"Gay cowboys are sexy," the Muse said as we left the theater. The snow was beginning to fall, and she pulled her knit hat down over her ears.
"They're acting," I said. "Does that count, if they aren't really gay?"
"Doesn't matter. Cute boys making out on screen. I'm all for that. And I didn't hear you complaining about it," she added.
I shrugged. "I'm from San Francisco. I've seen a lot of guys making out, and some of them were even dressed like cowboys. No worries."
We'd been apart a while, the Muse and I. We hadn't had a falling out, and there'd been no tectonic shift in our relationship, but we'd taken a few months with some distance between us. I don't know what had initiated the separation, but I was glad that it was at an end. I'd missed her, and while she might not admit it, I was fairly certain she had missed me as well.
"You could always move back, you know," she said. "Frisco's in your blood, probably."
I winced. "Jesus, Muse, don't call it Frisco. Only tourists call it that."
"San Fran." She giggled, knowing how much I hated that term as well.
"Never," I said. "It's San Francisco. Or if you're a native, it's just The City."
"Every city is just The City," she said. "You don't get exclusivity on that one."
"Do you want me to push you in the snow right here? Right by the curb? 'Cause I'll do it."
"You won't," she said. "Because you know if you do that I'll come and empty the litter box on your head while you're sleeping."